no-one saw me (not in the way you did)

Chapter 12

There are a lot of things that Stan doesn't remember from that point forward. Sharon comes along at some point, ready for a morale-boosting speech, but it dies on her tongue upon seeing her son's despondent expression. In one moment, she's hugging him, and in the next, they're in the car. Stan doesn't know how he made it there, but he doesn't exactly care either.

Snow falls in thick flakes against the car's rusting exterior. They land softly on the windscreen, only to be harshly shoved aside by the squeaking wipers. Sharon's saying something now, but Stan isn't listening; he's simply watching with empty eyes as the snow is brushed away time and time again.

He tries his best to pay attention to his mother's words, but he never fully succeeds. He catches on to her mentioning Uncle Jimbo, but his mind is quickly taken back to memories of summers spent at Jimbo and Ned's cabin with Kyle. They'd set off fireworks with Stan's lunatic uncle, away from the eagle-eyed watch of Sheila, and Stan would be unable to tear his eyes away from Kyle and his smile, all teeth, as his face changed colour with the fireworks. It was so rare to see Kyle finally content, as he looked back at Stan to wordlessly thank him for inviting him on this outing.

There's no more of that now. Stan will forever be haunted by that face, as beautiful and freckled as ever but no longer smiling. All that remains is cold-hearted contempt, every last inch reserved for Stan.

He shifts in his seat and starts to pick at the loose material on the passenger seat door.

Stan doesn't even know where it's all gone wrong. What had felt like a blissful dream had ultimately proven to be too good to be true, and there was nobody to blame but himself.

He continues to wallow in his misery until Sharon pulls up outside the Marsh home. The snow has settled already, dampening the hem of Stan's jeans when he steps out of the car and onto the sidewalk. He thinks it's deserved, the tiny discomfort that wraps around his ankles. He waits a bit, unmoving, staring at his feet until long after Sharon has driven off.

It's only once the cold has settled into his bones that Stan finally walks towards the front door, opening it with a sigh. It's not much warmer inside, but he's no longer standing in the snow, and the TV picture flickers from the sitting room.

He unceremoniously makes his way upstairs, lugging his skate bag and stick behind him. Someone is calling for him, and their tone is growing increasingly impatient. Stan doesn't care. Everyone is pissed off enough with him as it is, so what difference will one more person make?

When Stan finally reaches his room, he dumps his things in front of his closet. He kicks some dirty laundry out of the way with a frustrated grunt, watching as the balled up clothes soar across his room and join the sad, growing pile near his door.

He looks around his room for a moment, at all the reminders of Kyle and of his presence in a home that hasn't welcomed him in years. There are photos on the walls that Stan never had the heart to take down, freezing moments in time when they were still young and dumb and still had each other. They're sandwiched between trashy posters of bands that they used to listen to together, as well as crudely cut photos of world-famous hockey players.

Stan doubts Kyle even has his CDs anymore. They were probably trashed long ago, along with all the clothes he'd forgotten at the Broflovskis and any kind of positive feelings Kyle might have once had for Stan.

Yet, he still doesn't cry. Not when he tries to think of Kyle's soft touch, gentle and reserved only for Stan; not when, no matter how hard he tries to stop it, the vision twists cruelly into Kyle shoving him harshly against a wall. All that fills his head is Kyle, from beginning to end, in all his desperation and all his anguish. And Stan had caused all that. In trying to keep Kyle close, he pushed him away. And in trying to protect his team from one man, Stan had hurt them all worse than Vaughn probably ever could have.